chapter 9-Royalties

Malachi stepped into the bustling lobby of the Pegasus Hotel, the excited whispers of the crowd washing over him.

Internally, he struggled with the overwhelming presence of people and the unwanted spotlight that seemed to follow him. He despised the grandeur and pretense, his jaw tight with displeasure.

As he and Miguel navigated the lavish space, guests in designer attire began to part, their expressions a mix of admiration and curiosity.

A hush fell over the room, and murmurs of *"It's Malachi and Miguel!"* rippled through the crowd. The way people straightened up revealed their awareness of the brothers' influence, heightening Malachi's discomfort as he braced for the event ahead.

The murmurs intensified, a low hum of anticipation building as all eyes followed Malachi and Miguel to their table.

The brothers' presence was not merely their own; it was intertwined with their father's illustrious legacy, a legacy that held the room captive.

In this setting, their anonymity was nonexistent. They were not just individuals but embodiments of a powerful lineage, their very presence commanding both attention and reverence.

Even young boys, eyes wide with awe, reached out for autographs, clutching tattered pieces of paper like treasures.

Malachi offered a quick nod and a practiced smile to each outstretched hand, while Bianca discreetly guided him through the throng, ensuring they made their way with the grace befitting their status.

They finally reached the ballroom doors, the music, and laughter from within spilling out into the foyer.

As they entered, the scene shifted from youthful exuberance to hushed respect.

The air hummed with a mix of polished wood and faint floral arrangements, underscored by the melodic strains of a string quartet playing softly in the corner.

A sea of well-dressed dignitaries began to gravitate towards them, each wearing expressions that skillfully balanced sympathy and diplomatic decorum.

Malachi felt the uncomfortable weight of their gazes, a sensation akin to being pinned under a microscope.

Leading this formidable group was Senator Jackson, renowned for his polished demeanor as much as his political acumen.

He extended a hand warmly, his voice a well-rehearsed, low murmur.

"Malachi, Miguel," the senator said, his voice heavy with feigned sympathy. "I was deeply saddened to hear of your father's passing.

He was an extraordinary man, and his legacy will resonate for generations." He shook their hands with an overly firm grip, attempting to convey strength and solidarity.

The senator spoke broadly about the significant opportunities emerging in Jamaica, then proposed an alliance with the Shaka clan—an offer carefully tailored to Malachi and Miguel, whose disinterest in politics was well known.

He emphasized that with other politicians already aligning with influential clans, he needed to solidify his position by partnering with a leading family like theirs.

This alliance, he suggested, would foster mutual benefits and enhance their collective influence in the region, regardless of Malachi and Miguel's apparent disinterest.

Malachi's discomfort grew as he sensed the hidden motives and urgency behind the senator's words, realizing they were stepping into a dangerous game of alliances and betrayals.

His sincerity served as an unspoken bridge, connecting him with a genuine appreciation for those around him.

Noticing the imperceptible tension rising from Malachi, Bianca subtly edged closer, her presence a calming influence.

Her hand found its way to his side, delivering a gentle but unmistakable pinch meant to urge caution.

She turned towards him, whispering just loud enough for only him to hear, "Do you want to give the family a bad name?"

With Bianca's subtle nudge, Malachi managed to rein in his unease, choosing to engage more civilly with those who had gathered to pay their respects.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, the brothers finally found a moment of calm, settling at a nearby table.

As they relaxed, an announcer stepped to the podium, their voice resonating with authority throughout the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please.

It is with great honor that we welcome Malachi and Miguel of the esteemed Shaka clan to our gathering this evening.

We extend our deepest condolences for their recent loss and express our sincere gratitude for the countless contributions their family has made to the prosperity of our island."

With a subtle nod of shared understanding, the brothers raised their champagne glasses, embodying the grace and poise expected of their lineage.

The announcer continued, warmly addressing the crowd, "And now, it is my pleasure to introduce our Prime Minister, who will share his greetings and insights with us."

The prime minister approached the podium, his sharp black suit, glasses, neatly cut hair, and noticeably nose commanded attention.

Miguel, seemingly unimpressed, inspected his glass before glancing up, his expression one of surprise.

"Wait, he's still the prime minister? I swear, they need to start electing younger folks," he muttered.

Bianca and Malachi shot Miguel a warning look, and Bianca whispered through gritted teeth, "Shut up."

Meanwhile, the prime minister engaged the crowd with a jovial tone, "How's everybody doing? I see you all dressed nicely," eliciting laughter from the audience.

Getting to the heart of his speech, the Prime Minister declared, "We stand at a historic juncture. We have liberated ourselves and emerged as a sovereign nation." The crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause.

"With this new chapter, we move forward without the shadow of colonial rule—who needs to say more?" he continued, his voice filled with conviction. "In just 30 days, our clans will convene to forge crucial alliances with the clans of the Emerald Isles, a bold step toward strengthening our collective prosperity and affirming Jamaica's place as a leading force in the region."

Malachi, ever unreserved in sharing his perspective, interjected, "I'm not sure this is the best course of action."

He continued, "Rushing into alliances without a comprehensive understanding of the landscape could lead to unforeseen consequences. Our country is facing challenges, and the people require genuine support, not mere political posturing."

With that, he took a measured sip of his drink, as if to steady himself after conveying the gravity of his concerns.

Deon, dressed in a sharp green suit with his arms casually out of the jacket, jumped into the conversation with a playful grin.

"What's your alternative, Malachi? Just sit back and watch?"

His locs were tied in a bun, the sides of his head shaved, while a few strands framed his face, adorned with gold clips at the ends.

"You think it's a bad idea, huh?" Deon teased. "Consider the possibilities—forming alliances could provide the strategic advantage we've been lacking.

We'd gain access to new resources and increased support... or are you simply resistant to change?"

He relished the moment, eager to challenge Malachi's perspective.

Malachi set his glass down with a deliberate motion, fixing Deon with a steely gaze. "Come on now," he replied, sarcasm lacing his tone.

"It's not about fear; it's about pragmatism. The Prime Minister seems more intent on consolidating power while the most vulnerable among us are struggling to get by."

Attitudes like yours only push away those who could actually help us."

His words were sharper than intended, and the room fell silent, the weight of his truth hanging in the air.

He'd sell us out if it meant lining his pockets."

He nodded towards the podium where promises flowed freely.

"Change is needed, but not the nonsense these so-called leaders offer."

Malachi paused the weight of his grandfather's legacy clear in his stance.

"We're not here just to uphold old reputations.

This is our time to lead, to be the change our elders hoped for."

His words hung in the air, leaving Deon silent and the room reflective, aware that new leaders were stepping onto the scene.

Bianca's jaw clenched, a smile blooming on her face.

Her head bobbed, a nervous tic.

Miguel clapped Malachi on the back, his hand heavy.

"Albert Einstein himself couldn't have said it better!"

The music started, a lively beat filling the ballroom.

Bianca, noticing the group of elite guests observing Malachi from behind, subtly moved closer.

A woman in a teal dress approached their table, her smile bright. She lightly touched Malachi's arm, her touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Malachi," she murmured, her voice a low, melodious hum, "such a shame to let this beautiful music go to waste.

The dance floor's just over there."Miguel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Malachi, initially hesitant, began, "Nah, I'm—"

Before he could finish, Miguel faked a cough, his hand briefly disappearing inside his collar. "Negro, if you ever..." he said, a smirk on his face, clearly relishing the banter.

Malachi gave Miguel a look of bewildered annoyance, mouthing, "What the heck are you doing?" He then changed his mind, a smile spreading across his face.

"On second thought," he said seizing the opportunity, grasped Bianca's hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

On the dance floor, as the soft music enveloped them, she wrapped her arms around his neck with a tender familiarity.

He swallowed nervously, his bottom lip folding under his teeth, a small "hmph" escaping as he tried to contain his uncertainty. They were eye to eye, her smile warm and inviting.

"What?" he managed to ask, trying to mirror her ease.

"What do you mean, what?" she teased gently. "Would you rather I just not make eye contact?"

He glanced away for a moment, a bashful smile tugging at his lips.

"No, no," Malachi replied quickly, his gaze catching sight of a man in a sharp black-and-white suit dancing with a girl.

The man had short, curly hair, a black jacket over a white turtleneck, and red-tinted shades perched on his nose.

He moved with easy confidence, already circling with another woman as he nodded curtly to Malachi.

Malachi nodded back before returning his gaze to her.

"Mal, are you okay?" she asked, concern underlying her gentle tone.

"Yeah, I am," he replied, though the words felt thin.

""Seriously, Malachi, are you alright?" she asked, her concern genuine.

"I'm good. Are you good?" he deflected lightly, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders, the scent of her perfume—something floral and subtly spicy—washing over him.

"Don't turn this back on me," she replied gently, her tone both understanding and firm.

"I asked because I know loss all too well. As a former foster child, I understand your pain after losing your father."

He spun Bianca around gracefully, the world blurring past in a whirl of colors.

Yet, as he twirled her, Malachi's thoughts drifted to his father. Each turn felt like a reminder of the weight of expectations pressing down on him, the burden of living up to his father's legacy.

Beneath the vibrant facade, grief swirled within him, a shadow that darkened the joy of the moment, making each spin feel bittersweet.

He forced a smile, but the ache in his chest lingered, a silent testament to the loss he carried.

"Honestly, I'm a complete mess," he confessed, his voice trembling with vulnerability as the weight of his emotions poured out..

"Not only that, everyone expects me to be just like him. And I look just like him."

As he spun Bianca around, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over Malachi—admiration intertwined with grief, and a profound longing for the father he had lost.

Each twirl felt like a dance with memories, the laughter of the moment clashing with the weight of expectation.

The joy of the dance was tinged with heartache, as he grappled with the impossibility of living up to a legacy while yearning for the warmth of his father's presence.

As Bianca's words of encouragement pierced through the storm of doubt clouding Malachi's mind, her eyes softened, offering a beacon of light in his moment of vulnerability.

"Mal," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears and a yearning that ached deep within her, "you can be your own man.

Forge your own path—not just as a Shaka or your father's son. Let them see you for who you truly are.

Be the man God intends you to be. Please, let me see you."

Her hand reached out, trembling slightly, as if she dared to hope he might finally embrace the freedom she so desperately wanted for him.

Her words resonated deeply within him, a stark contrast to the flashbacks that haunted him.

Memories of family members urging him to follow in his father's footsteps, coupled with the harsh training regimens orchestrated by his uncle to push his limits in harnessing the family's lunar abilities, flooded his mind.

The weight of expectations and the pressure to emulate his father's legacy bore down on him, but in Bianca's words, he found a glimmer of hope and a chance to forge his own path.

Those words found a place in his heart, and he held onto them fiercely.

She nestled her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat resonating like a soothing melody.

With a gentle sigh, she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the moment envelop her.

"Do that," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, "and that's the man I want to see. The one who knows his worth and isn't afraid to reveal it." She pulled back slightly, searching his eyes, ready to lay her heart bare. "Because that's the man I've been hoping you'd become."

He felt a flicker of warmth at her reassurance. "Oh, so you do like me," he teased, a hint of newfound confidence shining through his voice.

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement, but then her gaze drifted to the massive window, the light filtering in and casting a soft glow around them.

A blurry figure moved outside the glass, drawing her attention.

"What was that?" she asked, a flicker of alarm threading through her voice.

His heart raced at the sudden shift in her demeanor. He followed her gaze, anxiety prickling at the back of his mind. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a deafening explosion shattered the stillness of the room.

The wall burst apart like fragile glass, debris flying through the air with terrifying force. Pain erupted in his head as something struck him, and in an instant, the world faded to black.

To be continued…